The Age of Purebloods
by Cerrita
Summary: A slightly dark, heavily AU take on the Marriage Law challange. Voldemort was victorious, but what is the fallout? Can Anyone hope for rebellion when the Order of the Phoenix is divided and sold as slave labor? Eventual SSHG. Reviews welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Inspired by JK Rowling's works, posted only for mine and others amusement.

This is my dark, AU spin on the WIKTT Marriage Law Challenge. My only advice is "assume nothing". Good luck, and please review.

**Chapter 1**

Nearly every argument in the Snape residence ended with her same words: "Our wedding night was the worst thing that's ever happened to me!" And he couldn't disagree. Of course, when he offered no rebuttal, a heavy silence would descend between them, and after a few moments one of them would stalk from the room. Usually her, but occasionally Severus would end the dispute with a growl and a flutter of robes as he retreated to his private rooms.

The very morning after that disastrous wedding night, Severus laid out a simple plan as to who would occupy which rooms of Spinner's End, and ordered all the house elves to ensure that Mrs. Snape didn't stray into his personal quarters, and vice versa.

After sixteen very long and tense months of marriage, Severus still couldn't bring himself to think of the girl as his wife, and certainly not someone deserving of carrying his name. He assumed she shared the opinion, as she used her maiden name almost exclusively, except for those few occasions when a hyphenated name must suffice. Severus knew she wasn't at all keen about marrying a professor and a Death Eater, just as he would have no desire to wed a student. Or an Auror. You don't bed the enemy.

Not that his loyalty to the Dark Lord or to Dumbledore was absolute. Always a Slytherin, he swung with the odds-on winner to suit his needs. His few remaining morals naturally wanted Dumbledore the victor, but at the time, his reasoning was that in the end it didn't really matter.

His opinioned changed now. Looking back, Severus wondered how... _He_ had acquired so much influence over the years. Always with that disturbingly warm and charismatic demeanor; like the Imperius Curse in and of itself; it was no surprise that scores of young wizards and witches fell to Voldemort's charms. Now so many of those young wizards were dead and buried, felled in the last grand battle against their enemy. And the young witches handed off to the remaining men, most of them Severus' age or older, as prizes for their loyalty. Some reward.

He couldn't even say _his_ name anymore. And it wasn't fear or intimidation, it was betrayal and seething rage. It was easier just to call him The Minister, as he took that illustrious title after overthrowing Fudge and his incompetents.

Now they lived in a magical world to The Minister's exact specifications. The Marriage Law, the worst tripe to leave the Ministry in decades, declared his most loyal followers the privilege of marrying "suitable" wives; it amounted to pureblood men owning pureblood women and making pureblood babies.

It didn't mean that mix-bloods didn't slip through the cracks, Severus mused. No one knew his own lineage, and it was just as well. If it became public knowledge that his father was in fact a drunkard muggle, he'd be executed and his dear wife imprisoned for marrying a mudblood.

Never mind that she'd been forced into the ceremony as much as he had. It was one of the few things they shared, what she aptly called their 'mutual rape'. The joke which had been the vows did not state that they would love and cherish each other, but something to the effect that they would make like rabbits and raise a whole litter of Voldemort loyalists. The meaning had been craftily concealed with words like 'honor', 'obey', and 'prosper', but the expectation that the husbands would keep the wives on their back every night until the halls of Hogwarts were filled again was not lost on any of the couples.

The reception afterwards had gone even worse. A hundred drunken wizards, most in their forties or fifties propositioning the young witches with promises of wealth and comfort if only they came to their beds. Severus swallowed his own bile as more than a few accepted the offer. But really, there weren't many options. Find a spouse, or have The Minister assign one, as had happened with the Snapes. The unhappy couple was more unhappy than any of the guests. Prisoners at Azkaban were probably having a better day.

It was when they had to consummate their vows that the real brutality of it all surfaced. Severus didn't want to take the innocence of a student, adult or not, or even a woman whom loved him less than he did her. But the consummation spell would break if they did not, and they didn't need to be told the punishment of such an insult to the Minister, who had gone to such great lengths to arrange proper, sensible marriages.

So, he took her. It was the nail in the preverbal coffin on either of their happiness. Severus had promised to be quick about it, but it was near impossible to be aroused by a woman barely out of childhood, a mere girl he'd never given a second thought to, and the whole disaster ended up taking far too long. She cried pitifully through the whole thing, but after an unsatisfying climax, when Severus offered to obliviate the memory, she declined.

"I won't let myself forget why I hate him," she'd reasoned, and he let it be at that. Of course it would have saved them much shouting and object throwing if he'd just erased the thoughts anyway, against her will, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. She'd had so much taken from her against her will, she didn't need her mind sullied and violated either.

So they brooded and raged and generally avoided each other whenever possible, except for dinner, which they decided mutually to be neutral territory, and spoke in calm, civilized voices for an hour while they ate. Then it was back behind the battle lines. If only the outside world left them at such peace.

The Minister was rather disappointed that the Snapes had yet to produce an heir, but they were not the only couple to remain childless, and could hide behind that statistic for awhile longer, at least until the two year deadline, when a mediwitch would be assigned to their home to oversee their "procreative habits". Severus had laughed out loud at the idea, but The Minister was not amused. Speaking to him as if a child, the dark lord explained that technique was key to reproduction, and not everyone was blessed with such skill. But, with luck, Severus would have a son to carry on his name.

It left Severus feeling ill, he hadn't bedded his wife but the one time, and what then, when the mediwitch reported that the Snapes didn't even share same wings of the manor, much less a room or a bed?

Mutual rape. It was an accurate description. When at Hogwarts, when students didn't realize his presence in the shadows of the darkened halls where they hid to console one another, the older witches bemoaned the letters they received, informing them of the coming nuptials to men elder than their own fathers. And of course, their fathers and mothers approved, wanting their precious daughter set in comfortably with an established, well connected man of at least moderate wealth. After all, they had their grandchildren to think about.

Severus didn't think he could feel any sicker about the current events, until his wife stormed into his room, house elves trailing behind like whiny children, begging her to leave. She threw a copy of the Daily Prophet into his lap, and stormed out just as wordlessly.

The main story was short, and to the point, and no doubt the eventual cause of their next domestic dispute. He read through it twice before tossing the paper away angrily.

**Own Your Own Muggle!  
**_This 26 of June, his most honorable Minister of Magic  
__has decreed the auction of many healthy, hard working  
__mudbloods captured during the Glorious Victory of the  
__Final Battle. Males and females of all ages, ready and  
__willing to do your bidding. Auctioning will being at noon,  
__in the main foyer of the Ministry building, so bring your  
__galleons a buy a piece of history! _

It wasn't a pleasant situation. The Minister had an unusual soft spot for purebloods of all kinds, even those against him. The Weasley clan, for example, had been moved into a larger, grander home, stocked with all the latest convinces they could need. They resisted, as was their nature, but The Minister was adamant, contributing substantial amounts to their Gringotts vault. Pureblood was pureblood, as far as he was concerned, and with a little help the Weasleys- and others- would eventually come around. Thus far they hadn't, much to Severus' amusement.

Though the purebloods of Dumbledore's army were let off the hook, the muggleborns and halfbloods were not. They came peacefully, or they died. Those with treatable injuries were removed from the battlefield, healed, then shipped to Azkaban. After the war, when his armies of Death Eaters claimed the Ministry and the major alleys of London, it had been bloody and prolonged. Hundreds, thousands perhaps, had died. Official counts were impossible, so many of the bodies were incinerated, mutilated, or banished without trace. A Manifest of Azkaban could not be found, either, and many were left to wonder if their loved ones were dead, imprisoned, or swayed to the other side.

Quite a few muggleborns were allowed to return to their old lives, if they agreed to obliviations. The rest were taken away to undisclosed locations, most probably to be slaughtered. The remaining Aurors switched from 'dark wizard catching' to 'mudblood catching', and Severus counted the days until he was found out.

He needn't wait much longer. A letter arrived for him on the morning June 26th, requesting his immediate presence with The Minister to discuss 'urgent matters' regarding his pureblood lineage.

Severus had no hope of pleading for his own life. Mudblood was mudblood, after all. But if he couldn't save his own life, perhaps he could save hers. After all, it was his duty to protect his wife, and she had no knowledge of his bloodline. And she was a good person, deserving of a second chance- her life had been ruined enough as it was by him and the Ministry.

He only hoped Pansy Parkinson would forgive him, eventually.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The Ministry building had always seemed a dark and gloomy place in Severus' opinion; rather harsh criticism coming from a man who spent his adult life in the dungeons of a school. He couldn't imagine any goings on in the place which weren't tainted with bribery, blackmail and intimidation. No longer was it a place of law and justice, it had long ago become the fortress of a dictator.

And it wasn't going change with the new Minister. Rumor was that the dark lord hadn't stepped foot from the place since his instatement, and if Severus' mood could be so dismal after five minutes, what would nearly two years do to a man?

Severus had visited The Minister's private quarters on a number of occasions for various reasons in the last two years, few of which had been social calls. The Minister had too many demands on him to waste his time entertaining guests. His every move of every day was carefully calculated to achieve a desired end, and Severus saw that the moment he had first stepped over the threshold.

The space, Severus assumed, had been unused office space at one point, for now it was the Minister's flat, the décor leaning heavily towards Slytherin colors, with high vaulted ceilings and cathedral windows enchanted to loom over muggle London. An odd choice for a purist.

Entering the flat brought visitors to an immense foyer which blending on one side into a parlor with expansive bar and liquor cabinet, and a reading room and study on the other side. A hall branched off the parlor, leading to the Minister's private chambers, a visitor's lavatory, and the dining hall, as well as several more doors Severus had never entered. Severus hadn't seen a kitchen, and assumed food was charmed in as at Hogwarts.

The dark lord himself was in the parlor, covered in a long dressing gown, Slytherin green and hemmed in silver, as he leaned gently against the long marble countertop of the bar. A brandy in one hand, the bottle and a second crystal goblet next to him, he took a sip and had all the outward appearance of a society gentleman casually greeting a close friend.

Severus wasn't fooled for a second.

He'd seen over the years how the dark lord oversaw his dirty work, with that air of authority suggesting that it was below him to exert himself in such situations. Severus saw before him a calculating madman prepared to read a death sentence as indifferently as if complimenting the weather.

Severus moved to bow before him and kiss his robes, as was the expected way to greet the dark lord, but was stopped with the sudden flick of a hand. "Dispatch with the formality, please, Severus. This is a casual meeting."

"Yes, my lord." he replied, returning to his full height. Though a welcome change, it was odd to forego the usual groveling ritual which was required of the Death Eaters.

"I'm glad you've come. I always worry that the ruddy owls won't find the address when you really want them to." Taking a sip of brandy, he ran a slender hand through his dark hair and smirked. He'd changed shortly after his victory; no one seemed to know what he'd done to achieve it, but the Minister looked normal. He looked... human; his skin a healthy pink, tastefully trimmed black locks without a hint of gray, and a straight, pointed nose that complimented his face. If it weren't for the slited yellow serpent eyes, it would be impossible to pick him from a crowd.

"I find house elves more reliable in message delivery," Severus replied, approaching tentatively to within a few short strides of the older man. "At least they fully understand the punishment they would receive upon failure."

"True," the Minister agreed. "but one must be so careful with house elves. One careless slip with a scrap of fabric, and they've gone packing. Always have to stay alert with them. However, I haven't brought you here to discuss the reliability of nonhuman servants. There is more important business at hand." by motioning to the empty goblet and brandy decanter, he offered Severus a drink, a curious look gracing his features.

Well, one way or another, Severus had come to die, be it by Dementors, the killing curse, or a poisoned drink. It seemed he was being granted the option of choosing his death, a rare display of honor. He poured himself a generous glass.

"The letter failed to mention any specific issue." he said, raising the goblet, covertly studying the color and scent before tasting a mouthful. Nothing obvious, at least. "The stare of my blood purity could be a fairly ambiguous subject." Severus' mind ran through the list of poisons with no color, scent, or taste, and came up with a rather short list. Two were dismissed outright, one killed in seconds, the other was impossible to brew due to the extinction of a key ingredient. Hell's Liquor was unlikely, the fumes would have killed the brewer, and the dark lord likely wouldn't sacrifice a loyal subject to achieve the death of a disloyal one. Probably.

_Sette Morti_? Empty Breath? They both seemed likely, but few wizards outside of Italy knew how to properly brew the Seven Deaths, and was hard to export, even in the black market.

Well, Empty Breath it would be- seizures, hemorrhaging, boils, and death. Twenty minutes and counting.

The Minister took a swig of his drink, sloshing the remainder around in a lazy motion before pushing away from the countertop and sauntered towards the cathedral windows overlooking London. Several long minutes passed between them, The Minister staring vacantly outside, Severus trying not to fidget by the bar. When it finally seemed that the Minister was not going to begin the conversation, Severus cleared his throat quietly.

"My Lord? What was it you wished to speak to me about?"

"I have to admit, I'm rather disappointed in you, Severus." The Minister said suddenly. "All this time you never told me the truth yourself. And you've had ample opportunity to explain your disloyalty. You betrayed my trust, all these years..."

"Explain what, my lord?" he asked, what little color he had in his face draining away. "My father wasn't worth mentioning-"

"Don't play me a fool, Severus," the Minister reproached bitterly. "I'm far from one. I've known about the true nature of your loyalty all this time, even back in the old days, before that blasted Potter boy spoiled my plans." he turned his gaze down at the street below. "You know how I detest deception. You've seen me dispatch with enough of my enemies firsthand to know that."

Well, no point in playing dumb. "Yes, my lord. But... I had to stand for my best interests."

"_Your best interests_. Yes, I know." he stifled a sort of chuckle and turned to face the younger man. "Dumbledore could be very persuasive. Oh, don't look at me like that. I've rooted many spies from my ranks over the years, you don't think I wasn't wise to your double-cross?"

This was not going well. And somehow, Severus couldn't bring himself to be terribly distraught at the idea of his forthcoming death. "I-I..." he paused, feeling the alcohol beginning to take hold. "I assumed you would have acted immediately if I were found out."

"Well," the dark lord started with sudden energy, emptying a generous portion of his goblet. "I couldn't very well execute my only son and heir over something as trivial as the tattling of some useless information to a senile old man. What would be the sense of that?"

Son? Heir? "My lord, I'm afraid I do not understand..." His voice took on a notable level of distress; the Minister was making very little sense; and he tried desperately to quell it. It would take more alcohol for that. He finished off his goblet and filled it again. Perhaps a drunken stupor would ease his final moments. The Minister carried on.

"Severus," The Minister sighed and turned from the window, and suddenly he looked every bit his 65 years. "I have spent most of my life in pursuit of a means to cheat death. Thus far I have been unsuccessful. I will, of course, continue my endeavor, but if it should prove fruitless I will need someone to carry on the noble work of Salazar Slytherin." there was a pause. "I assume that you foresaw a much different issue needing resolved."

"I had, my lord."

"My apologies for that, but it wouldn't do if that note found it's way into another's hands, with your name and 'turncoat' in the same sentence. Bad publicity, and all that."

"Understandable." Severus replied simply.

"Severus, I've always thought of you as a son. You're loyalty to me has been unmatched by any other Death Eater in all my long years of work, despite your deception. All the others served loyally, yes, but to their own grand ends. Now, you strove for a greater good despite your own wants. I trust you as I trust no other. And no," his eyes warmed merrily for a second. "the brandy isn't poisoned."

The younger man paused for a long moment, staring at the liquid in his goblet, but not really noticing it, before he spoke again. "You're letting me live." It didn't sound right.

"Of course!" the dark lord chuckled lightly. "I have, however, taken the liberty of altering your birth records slightly. You are, naturally, at liberty to look into them yourself, but I assure you that everything is in order. After all," his grin changed into something closer to a grimace. "It wasn't really your fault. Here," he lifted a small leather pouch from one pocket, the contents jingling with the movement. "Take it and buy a slave or two at the auction this afternoon. My treat. And give Mrs. Snape my regards."

Severus left the Minister's flat more anxious than when he'd gone in. To be found out and killed would have been one thing, but to be praised, doted upon, and confided in for being a mudblood and a spy was another altogether unsettling aspect. It was a compromising situation. It meant the Minister had one- several, in fact- over on him, a bit of blackmail to force his hand, should the need arise.

It might also mean that the dark lord wasn't in his right mind. If he didn't know better, he would have believed it was a clever ruse by an unknown party to have a little fun at his expense. He was acknowledged as a spy, and the dark lord praised his loyalty to a cause; any cause at all. He was a mudblood, and the same man who'd slain of countless muggleborns sympathized his plight as beyond his control, then took the liberty of washing both their hands of it with a few forged documents. Nothing about this settled right, and when Severus promised that when he was again sober, he would look deeper to a probable cause.

Shaking off the thought, he descended the long staircase to the lobby, a purse of galleons weighing down one pocket, reminding him of it's immoral intentions. He found a large and growing crowd of onlookers already present in the foyer, milling about and chattering jovially until the start of the auction. All of them purebloods, naturally, and most of them Death Eaters or some other associate of the dark lord and their families.

Adjusting his hair quickly with one hand, and pulling his robes about his shoulders, he sauntered into the crowd, attempting to get lost in the swarm of pompous aristocrats until he'd made his purchase and could leave. His attempts proved futile, however, as a hand appeared from behind and took his shoulder gently, waking him from his thoughts.

"Severus! Good to see you; I didn't think you'd be attending today." Lucius Malfoy was grinning his ever-calculating sneer, eyes cold and betraying the warmth he was trying to portray. He was dressed in his best robes, hair brushed just-so, one hand on his ever-present ebony cane. Narcissa was at his side, robed in an attractive burgundy shade, whispering enthusiastically with a youngish woman Severus knew as a wife of the Macnair family only by the broach of the family crest adorning her right shoulder. Both Malfoys were also sporting similar broaches of Lucius' heritage. It seemed that most of the purebloods were wearing them. Severus wondered if his family even had a family crest.

The two women were gossiping, of course, pointing out seemingly random faces around them and either smirking, grimacing, or giggling. It was the singular pastime of most pureblood wives, an activity that Pansy failed to take any part in. In fact, she spent very little time with anyone that wasn't him or the house elves, and even less time around women such as her mother.

There had been one instance at dinner several months prior when the Snapes let down their defiant exteriors and confided with startling honesty. Pansy cursed her parents wholly for their enthusiasm in the arrange marriage. Although, in their defense there was no objecting to the unbending will of the Minister, but it would have eased relations with their daughter if they had privately shared some of her dismay at who exactly the young lady was to marry.

He agreed, but caught on early that Emilio Parkinson was more a greedy power-monger than most of the Death Eaters, and anticipated the advantages of marrying into the family of a man so close to the dark lord. To have a chance at Severus' ear and subsequently the Minister's as well, Mr. Parkinson was willing to sacrifice his only daughter to a­ cold, menacing, unsociable and downright unpleasant man twice her age. Moira Parkinson just wanted a granddaughter to spoil.

Severus had taken a margin of pleasure in reiterating all this to Pansy. After all, she should have a right to the goings on involving her own life. She appreciated the gesture, but it did nothing to improve her mood.

"I hadn't planned on attending, but his lordship insisted I find... something suitable." Severus managed a halfway convincing smirk and extracted the purse briefly to signify the point.

"Damn good turnout," Lucius stated, admiring the crowd around them. He was right, it was a whose-who of pureblood society. With just a few glances, Severus spotted the Carrows, the Bulstrodes, the Gaunts, the Macnairs, among others. There was Lavender Brown, standing miserably beside her parents and the Goyles, young Gregory and his father Thaddeus. Severus' idle wonder as to Lavender's marital status was suddenly answered when Thaddeus pulled her to his side and placed a dominating kiss on her cheek. Mr. and Mrs. Brown looked thrilled- Lavender and Gregory looked sick.

Trying not to appear disgusted, he pulled his pocket watch out and checked the time. Only mere minutes, then he'd buy the first slave brought out and get the hell out of there.

"By the way, how is our lord?"

It took Severus a moment to process Lucius' question. "The Minister is" _stark raving mad_. "quite well. This peace after the war has done him good."

"Always good news," Lucius agreed. "God knows we'd still be wading through mudblood filth if it weren't for his salvation."

From the corner of his eye, he swore he saw someone making a vaguely religious gesture as Lucius spoke, and a hideous though came to Severus. Had he spent all these years futilely coaxing information from the dark lord to not have noticed an altogether different form of worship arise? The name 'Voldemort Christ' flashed through his mind in the form of 'The Last Supper', with the Minister and twelve Death Eaters lined in a row, and he cringed. He was no Christian, but even he was horribly offended by the idea.

Behind him a bell rang, and turning to the podium up on the makeshift stage, an unfamiliar young man stood, wand to his throat. He spoke in the usual crisp voice that auctioneers had, briefly stating the policy of the bid. All bids are final, payment upfront.

With the introduction out of the way, he stepped aside, and from behind a curtain came a prisoner. Clothed in tattered, stained garments that _may_ have once been striped black and white, the boy of no more than 13 hobbled up the stairs in shackles, the burly auror accompanying him offering little if any assistance.

Severus felt a swelling of pity for the boy. A half-blood, probably, would have started at Hogwarts the September after the war if the dark lord had lost. He would know this boy, his name, his abilities; which house would he have been sorted into? He looked rather meek, Hufflepuff probably. Hufflepuff's were quite sociable, he'd probably have a girlfriend...

"Let's start the bidding for this strapping lad at ten galleons! Ten galleons, can I get fifteen..."

The auctioneer rattled on, and after a minute of the buzzing of his voice and the brief flicking of bidder's hands, he rapped a gavel against the edge of the podium and closed the bid. 142 galleons. At least someone sees some value in him, Severus thought morbidly, even if it is only for manual labor.

The boy was led from the stage and handed to his new owner, one of the Nott clan.

Severus continued to watch the proceedings, to pained by the sight to remember to bid, and when his hand did go up, it was quickly outdone. Gods, they were all children. A little girl, crying for her mother, brought 58 galleons; twin girls about nine bought by the Lestrange's for 96; another young man sold for 161.

He had to get out of here, feeling the brutality manifest as a tangible thing in his chest, wrapping around his heart and lungs and squeezing them until he couldn't breath or think, his sense of rational thought slipping away...

Susan Bones? Severus blinked, then stared again at the prisoner on stage. Yes, the same Hufflepuff from Potter's year, that hair nearly as red as a Weasley. The other children had been unknown to him, but this was a student of his for seven years. Someone he knew and recognized, not a nameless face to banish from his mind. The bid was rising quickly, mostly by the men; Severus could tell by the look in their eyes that they didn't see her doing much in the way of chores.

"100 galleons!" he called out suddenly, a little louder than he intended. The Auctioneer acknowledged him, then a pause as he waited for another bid.

"All right, 100. We've got 100. Anyone else? Going once, going-"

"115 galleons!"

Severus sought out the source of that familiar voice instantly. Standing not more than a few feet away from him, Neville Longbottom stared determinedly at the stage, not taking his eyes off Susan. What would Longbottom, of all people, be doing at a slave auction?

The bid closed before he could up it, but all his attention was on Longbottom as he marched with a sort of hesitant swagger to the podium, paid the 115 galleons promptly, and led his property away.

He didn't believe what he saw.

What was the world coming to? The dark lord, Minister and Lord of the entire Great Britain magical world, congratulating Severus for 20 years of deceit. Young girls, barely into adulthood handed off to husbands two or three times their age. Cowardly Neville Longbottom buying a classmate at a slave auction for 115 galleons.

Severus needed more of that brandy, if this day was going to continue.

A quick, sharp laugh from Lucius brought him back to reality. "That's one of Potter's fan club, isn't it? Not bad looking, either... 30 galleons!"

The potions master turned quickly from Lucius to the new prisoner, and his breath caught in his throat.

Hermione Granger, standing still and quiet, the fire completely gone from her dull eyes. Nothing left of the know-it-all who haunted his classroom for seven years. While some of the prisoners had watched the crowd with fright to see who would become their master, Miss Granger kept her eyes on her feet, looking as pitiful and despondent as one could.

It didn't slow the bidding.

Severus let a puff of air escape his lips, intended to form the word 'no', but he couldn't focus on his voice enough to accomplish the task. Granger, like the rest of Potter's friends, had officially joined the Order only a few short months before their defeat. By default, she was a friend and an ally. Never mind being the smartest practitioner of magic to come through Hogwarts in a generation, himself included. She didn't deserve this, and he couldn't bring himself to walk away.

"170!"

"180."

"185!"

The bidding continued to rise at an accelerated rate, Lucius had dropped out early on, and was now conferring with his wife in a heavy whisper.

"200!"

Severus raised a sluggish hand. "250!" The crowd silenced instantly and turned to him with looks both impressed and curious. But their attention was quickly pulled to a man who called out "275!"

The crowd parted slightly between the two bidders, allowing the men to size each other up. He was a black man with curled hair forced back into a stubby pony tail, cloaked not in robes but a suspiciously muggle beige trench coat. A all-around haughty, pompous looking character. By his accent, Severus assumed he was not from England, but certainly an English speaking country. The bidder smirked a challenging, and Severus grimaced. Up on the stage, the auctioneer was all smiles, visualizing the size of his commission of the two kept up their momentum.

"300." Severus spoke evenly, not taking his eyes off the dark man.

His smile broadened, and he jingled a few loose coins in one pocket. "350."

"400."

"500." There were audible gasps from the crowd. The auctioneer was all but dancing behind his podium, too excited to interrupt. Even Hermione Granger had begun to take notice of the fantastic price on her head.

The bidder took Severus' silence as defeat and nodded in triumph to the auctioneer as if things could not proceed without his approval. Bastard. The auctioneer, obviously disappointed by the sudden end, raised his gavel.

"600." Severus barely whispered, yet everyone seemed to hear him. Glancing at him, the auctioneer accepted the bid and turned expectantly to the dark man, who frowned for the first time. After a long moment, he shook his head slowly, declining the challenge. Polite applause filled the room as the gavel sounded, and Severus felt his face redden from the arm-slapping, hand shaking, and general congratulations bestowed upon him.

Lucius nudged his arm with one elbow good-naturedly and chuckle. "Good luck with that one." there was no mistaking the intention behind the words. "We'll get together some other time; Narcissa wants one of the little ones. Something for her to fuss over, I suppose, until Draco and Millicent can give us a grandchild."

With a few brief goodbye's to his immediate neighbors, Severus departed to the podium, where the auctioneer paused to give him a gleeful wink and a grin and point him to a small desk where an ill-kept auror was seated, a stack of paperwork at the ready. Miss Granger was led over and positioned a few short feet from her new master, her eyes again on her feet, her disposition more sullen than before. Severus quickly signed his name on the ownership papers, while the auror sized him up.

"And how'll ya be payin'?"

"You may withdrawal it directly from my Gringott's vault."

"And if there ain't enough?"

Severus scowled. "There is a sufficient amount for this purchase." And plenty more, but this oaf didn't need to know that. 19 years teaching salary stored up, surprisingly little spent in that time, he really could have gone on all day with the bidding if he'd felt like it. But he didn't feel like it, he'd just spent nearly a year's wages in the space of ten minutes to buy the freedom of a fellow human being. He couldn't bring himself to do it again, ever.

He then turned to Miss Granger, keeping his scowl in place, but lessening it somewhat. "Granger," he began. "as your... master, I expect you to obey me in my every command. Is this clear?"

There was a pause, then a feeble nod.

"You are also to speak when asked a question. Do you understand me?"

"She don't talk." the auror interrupted suddenly.

"How do you mean?"

"Few months back, the wench made a break for it. Didn't get far, but she _accidentally_ took a knife to the throat when she fought back. Ain't talked since."

It was unlikely that there was any accident, except perhaps for them to underestimate her ability to incite a riot. Severus had no doubt that she'd become fairly successful at gathering some sort of resistance behind bars. It wouldn't surprise him in the slightest. "So, I'm to understand that you've just sold me damaged goods?"

"Not really, ye see? Can't talk back, no smart mouthin'. And na' ta worry," he grinned lecherously. "she can still scream. _Trust me_."

Resisting the urge to punch the auror in the face, especially as Granger's hands moved for the first time to cover her lap protectively, Severus settled instead for clearing his throat and putting forth his best scowl. "I see your crest is the Lowry clan; son of Edgar Lowry, I assume?"

"Aye, what of it?" the auror asked, his voice getting low and dangerous.

"Oh, nothing. I had just assumed, incorrectly apparently, that the Lowrys were nothing but impoverished, inbred trolls with not but two sickles to their name. Nothing worthy of an auror's position." the man turned beet red, to furious to speak, but Severus quickly pushed on. "No matter, I only ask so I know who will be to blame if my property is incapable of performing her tasks. Good day,"

Taking far too much enjoyment at the man's expense, he took Miss Granger's wrist in a firm but comfortable grip, and led her towards the main floor, only glancingly aware that one of the Creevey boys was currently up for auction.


End file.
